


Return to Us

by thehobbiwriter



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Brief sexual theme, Children, F/M, Family, Fluff, Goodbyes, Happy Ending, Homecoming, POV First Person, Separation, Unconditional Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-06 21:33:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3149228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehobbiwriter/pseuds/thehobbiwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Bofur left to join Thorin Oakenshield on his quest to reclaim Erebor, he left behind a wife, three children, and a promise: to return home to them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

     It was a lazy, summer evening, and the sun was dipping down low on the horizon. Our little village was winding down; blacksmiths staying their hammers; bakers leaving their ovens to cool, and merchants stowing their wares for the night. Lone figures could be seen walking along the dirt pathways, journeying back to their homes, where there most likely waited warm hearths, hot meals, and happy children and wives.  
     I sit on the front lawn of our modest home as our two oldest children run squealing across the warm grass, chasing one another as they have been all day. Our youngest sits at my feet, playing quietly with the little wooden eagle your cousin Bifur made for him. He has your dark, wavy hair, and heartwarming smile. He is such a well-mannered boy, quiet and thoughtful; he is always thinking about something, you can see it in his little furrowed brow. Just like you.  
     I work diligently to mend a pair of worn socks. They belong to you. You had asked and asked for me to mend them. Countless times you coolly reminded me that it still needed to be done. But, you never rushed me; you never made it seem urgent.  
     I feel tears sting my eyes, and I quickly dash them away. I will not cry in front of our children, they have only just stopped crying themselves. I lay the half-mended socks down in my lap and raise my face towards the lavender sky. I remember the day you left…  
     You came through the door very excitedly one evening. You were whistling happily, as you so often do. The children immediately jumped all over your arms and legs, gleefully asking what kept you out so late, and entertaining you with the exciting events of their day. Our oldest asked what you were so happy about. I remember you said,  
     “Poppa’s going to make all our troubles go away.”  
     I looked at you, immediately wary of what that meant.  
     “Time for bed, dearlings.” I told our children. I was answered with a chorus of groans and complaints. They all began pleading for you to let them stay up a while longer. You kindly told them that if they went to bed now, they would have sweets waiting for them under their pillows come morning. Like a charm, they hurriedly skipped off to bed; but not before you gave each of them a long, loving hug, and kissed them each as if you would not see them for a time.  
     I watched their little dark heads bob forth into their room, then I turned to you, with so many questions plaguing my mind.  
     “I know what you’re thinking, dove.” You told me.  
     “You’re going, aren’t you?” I whispered, tears making my voice waver. “You’ve decided to go with him even though I begged you not to?” I could not conceal the hurt in my voice. I did not want you to go, I couldn’t stand the thought of you leaving on such a fool’s errand, and I had told you as much until I was blue of face.  
     “Dove,” you pleaded.  
     “No, Bofur. What are we supposed to do if you leave?” I cried. “You cannot expect me to think you will actually return from such a foolhardy quest.” Tears rolled down my face. “I will not give myself such false hope.”  
     “Dove…” you walked up to me, and placed your mitted hand on the side of my face. Your eyes were sincere, and sad. “I _must_ do this. If not to uphold my honor, and loyalty to our race, then to better our circumstances here. I will return from this journey a wealthy man. A man who can provide for his beloved wife and children better than I could ever hope to.” You smiled sweetly at me, willing me to understand.  
     “And what if you don’t come back? Are you determined to make me a widow?” I choked through a sob. You wrapped your arms around me then, squeezing me against your chest, where I have always fit so perfectly. I breathed in your scent: simple soap and musky tobacco. I closed my eyes tightly and curled into your arms and against your chest. My tears stained your linen tunic.  
     “I _will_ come back. I swear it, darling.” You stroked my hair, soothing me. I nodded slowly against your heart. I knew that I must trust you, that you would keep your word at all costs.  
     We made love that night as we have never done. You held me close and kissed me with all the love and tenderness in the world. Your hands stroked every inch of my body. You said you were committing it to memory for the long journey. You held me while I wept, while I laughed, and while I came undone from your passions.  
     Afterwards you left, while our children slept, unaware that their beloved Poppa was trundling down the road away from them. You slipped off into the night to meet your kin, and head out towards Bree, I believe; on a quest that could take a year, at least. I remember I cried for many days after. I wept because our children wept. I wept because I could not imagine you being gone from this world, without feeling my heart would break. I wept for thinking you may never return to me, that my heart would be missing from me always…  
     Our oldest runs up to me now, throwing her arms about my waist. I look down from the sky and into her cheery, upturned face. She is your mirror image.  
     “Mama, why do you look so sad?”  
     I give her a reassuring smile. And stroke her raven hair out of her sweaty, dirty face.  
     “I am not sad, sweeting. I was only thinking how much I adore you and your brothers.”  
     She smiles broadly back at me, and trots off to chase her brother once more before I call them inside for the night. I look out towards the sunset and sigh. You must come back to me, Bofur. I place my hand upon the soft swell of my belly. _You must come back to us._


	2. Chapter 2

     “Elda!” I call from inside the cramped and sweltering kitchen of our humble dwelling. There is no answer; but the shrieking and various sounds of play that once echoed from the perimeters of our little hut have all but been eradicated. “Elda, I know you hear me!” I call again, yet this time with more volume. I hear ill-concealed whispering outside the window. I lean forward over the wash basin, and peep over the sill and past the flower box to see two little brunette heads ducked down low, and pressed closely to the wall. Our children whisper conspiratorially, unaware that their mother looms over them like a bird.  
     “Elda, Kofur.” I utter in a sing-song voice. At once their heads jerk up, and their filthy, adorable little faces look to my expectant one with wide-eyes. Then they run off shrieking once more as though I am some great monster that is after them. I suppose that it is a justified terror, in view of the fact that I _am_ calling them because they must get ready for bed soon. I straighten, adjust the bundle that is swaddled to my bosom, and head towards the door with a sigh.  
     I step onto the sun baked stoop and rest my hands on my hips as I look around at the various foliage in our yard for the two young shirkers. Our youngest son, Ishfur, plays in the dirt next to the stoop, quietly; and I notice he has ripped up all of my flowers to arrange them in a uniform circle around a plain-looking rock. I smile as I wonder what his vivid imagination has chosen that rock to be. I tousle his long, curly hair on his head, and am rewarded with his brilliant grin which is missing a few pearly teeth. I then step off the stoop and walk deliberately towards a mysteriously trembling bush that lines the path from our gate to our door.  
     “Where have my darling little bubbies run off to?” I muse loudly. I hear snickering, followed by hissed shushing discharge from the interior of the bush, which I have come to stand directly in front of. I continue musing in a tone of feigned worry as to the whereabouts of my children, who happen to be very ill at the game of hide-and-seek.  
     As I cup my hand over my brow and scan the distant horizon in an exaggerated fashion, I notice a few dark figures walking up the lane, their silhouettes made apparent by the blazing summer sunset behind them. I drop my hand, and gaze transfixed on the figures as my heart quickly lurches into my throat. My hand grasps protectively at the bundle at my breast, and I stand utterly still as the figures slowly make their way down the lane.  
     My dearling children leap out of the bush after my prolonged, stunned silence has outlasted their fleeting patience; squealing their delight at having fooled me, and shouting such things as “Surprise!” and “Here we are, mama!” I can feel them tugging on my arms, but I cannot will my wilted limbs to move in response. I cannot tear my eyes from the looming figures on the horizon. After a period of their failed attempts at immediately winning my attention, my two eldest children duck behind me and cling to my skirts, their eyes looking in the direction of my own. After an even longer period, Ishfur notices the apparent upset, and comes to grip my limp hand with his chubby, dirty one. And thus, we all stand, waiting for these potentially ominous outlines to become remotely recognizable.  
     My throat goes dry. My eyes begin to water and sting from my careless lack of blinking, for I cannot risk missing the instant when the shadows become faces. I fear my heart might stop before I can either confirm or deny whether you are one of the returning figures. _Oh, please let it be you…_  
     Once the handful of shadowy shapes pass by the bakery, and the sun finally illuminates their profiles, I am overwhelmed by the piercing recognition of your face. Our children catch on quickly thereafter, and run screaming down the path towards you. You walk slowly from some unseen impairment, but I can see that dazzling, cheeky grin shining, even from so far away. My hand flies upward to cup my mouth as a strangled sob blurts from between my dry lips.  
     I watch as our children bombard you and your cousins with jumping hugs and greedy hands. Kofur hangs from Bombur’s red, braided beard, and you scoop up Ishfur and hold Elda’s hand tightly, but never do you stop in your tireless gait towards me. Your eyes, now transfixed on mine, shine with love that has neither tarnished nor dwindled in all the time we’ve spent apart. You open the gate in front of our home with a familiar squeak, and continue up the small path with our children in tow until you are standing directly in front of my sustained immobility.  
     You appear to have aged considerably, more crinkles adorn the corners of your smiling eyes, and your beard has a sprinkling of gray that was not there prior. I feel fat tears tumble from my eyes as I begin to weep from happiness, sorrow, relief, longing, and more emotions than I can ever identify. All this time of endless worry and dogged tears, and here you stand before me again.  
     “Dove.” You whisper, and a broad smile spans your face. I choke on a sob and throw my arms about you as I find the strength to move. I pepper your beautiful face in hurried kisses and pat my hands all over you as though I cannot believe you are real. I cry audibly now, gasping for air in quite an ugly fashion. You merely bring your arms about my waist and bury your nose against my shoulder. Our children grow bored of the exchange, and run off to pester your lingering cousins with boundless questions of your quest.  
     We hold each other for what must be an overly extended period, but it seems all too soon that your head comes up, and a puzzled expression clouds your face as a soft cooing emits from between us. I smile at you, and trace my hand on the side of your face. Then I reach down to the bundle that has been swaddled to my bosom, loosening it a bit so that you may see your youngest daughter for the first time.  
     Her rosy, button nose and shock of black hair send you to your knees. You weep at the chubbiness of her cheeks, and the miniature dimpled fists that wave in the air, shakily. You take your hat off and lean forward to nuzzle the soft mound that is our child with all the tenderness of an adoring father. You are at once, in love. I cannot help but to watch on with tears still spilling from my eyes, for I had feared for so long that you would never meet your youngest daughter.  
     You rise, steadily, while holding her tiny hand. Then you look to me, and I to you, and there need be no words between us. We at once understand each other’s grievances and joys in this long awaited moment. You wrap your arms about me again, and rest your cheek against my forehead as you smooth your hand over my back.  
     “I love you.” You whisper. And, through a strained voice I answer,  
     “With all my heart, I love you.”  
     We stand there holding each other until the sun has been relieved by the moon and stars twinkle above us. We stand there holding each other until our legs grow weary and weak under our weight. We stand there holding each other until we are roused from our calm by three cantankerous children who beckon us into our long standing hut, and insist that they be put to bed with a proper bedtime story.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter of this short story was intended to be a one-shot sort of deal. But, after some of my readers read it, and loved it, it was requested that I write more for it -especially since it was left in a very angsty place. So, I wrote a second shot to it with the intention of making it happy and heartwarming, and I think it makes for quite a lovely read, myself. I do hope you enjoyed it! <3  
> -dwarfdultery


End file.
